+ C h a p t e r 1 +

Amon rechecked the directions. Amon found himself peering down the way in a futile attempt to recall his surroundings. He had traveled the deserted gravel road nearly a year ago, but the memory had long since faded into the past. He was puzzled. Normally, he was better at remembering locations.

The vehicle bounced along on the unforgiving road, jostling Amon with every full turn of the car's wheels. Preoccupied with avoiding the plethora of potholes, he nearly missed the turn-off, a narrow opening covered by an array of overgrown foliage. Hidden amidst the greenery was a rusty intercom box. Just as he leaned out of the car window, arm outstretched to press the button, the massive black iron gate before him clanged opened. Amon glanced back to the intercom. Apparently, someone had been awaiting his arrival.

The road up to the chateau was just as worn as the previous route, only steeper. Amon could barely see the main building perched atop the mountain, his terminus on this particular journey. On either side of the road was a dense covering of brown brush. As Amon continued along, the brown soon gave way to a lush green landscape. The land beside the road dropped off, leaving a stunning, if not disconcerting, view of the rolling Mediterranean countryside below. It was a sight to behold, at once beautiful and mysterious. A fitting place for her.

After nearly a ten minute ride, Amon finished his ascent from the gate to the chateau and pulled his vehicle into the main circular drive. Gazing up at the building, he stopped the car, noting that it was far more imposing up close. Unlike the gravel road, Amon remembered the chateau clearly. Not surprising. It was the memory of his guilt that recalled in vivid detail the events that transpired a year earlier. Her face had been strong, almost concealing the pain and hurt at having been abandoned by the person she trusted most. He had insisted that it was for her own good and he mostly believed it himself. There were times, however, when he lay alone in a hotel bed staring at the ceiling in the early hours of the morning, that he doubted his decision to leave her behind.

Amon peered through the windshield. The grounds were deserted. He had expected that someone would be waiting for his arrival. After all, he had scheduled a meeting for today and the gate opened before he even had the chance to ask permission. Now he found himself alone and--oddly--unsure of how to proceed. It was at that moment Amon realized he was nervous. The idea was absurd, of course. He had no reason to be nervous. Still, a strange sensation of doubt strayed into his mind as he adjusted his black suit coat and fiddled with his tie before exiting the car. The next time he returned to the vehicle, there would be two passengers.

A woman in the rose garden caught Amon's eyes as he crossed the grounds to the chateau. She was very blonde, hair falling unbound over her shoulders. The woman's back faced him, preoccupied with cutting dark red roses off a bush. He approached her, thinking that she might be able to direct him to the Mother Superior he had come to meet. In any case, it wouldn't hurt to ask for help.

Stopping a few paces behind her, Amon hesitated. She was so busy at her task, she had neglected to notice his presence. He cleared his throat.

"Excuse me. I'm--"

That was as far as he managed before the woman turned around, her young face startled at the intrusion. A sudden sensation coursed through his veins, as though the ground had collapsed beneath him. Before Amon stood the grown up version of his Robin. Being a man, Amon did the only thing he could in such a situation.

He stared.

His eyes did a thorough once-over, taking in her calf-length, pale pink skirt and white sleeveless sweater. He had never seen Robin wear pink in the nearly three years he had known her. Her hair was lighter than he remembered and her skin all over bore evidence of a light tan. But mostly, Amon stared at her face. She had always been pretty, but age had transformed her into an even more beautiful being.

He knew he had stared too long--and cursed himself for doing so--but he couldn't pull his gaze away from her eyes. The sinking feeling of doubt refilled his stomach. Perhaps it had not been the best idea to bring her back after all.

No matter. It was too late now. The purpose of his visit was to retrieve her.

Robin shuffled her feet and glanced away, a faint blush filling her cheeks. She replaced the gardening shears into the basket she held, then shyly looked back to him.

"I suppose I should take you to Reverend Mother Agnes," she said, not bothering to give him a formal greeting.

At her voice, Amon snapped out of his reverie. He inferred from Robin's countenance that she had been the one waiting for his arrival. He glanced to his watch.

"Yes. I'm already fifteen minutes late." He turned his attention back to Robin. His disobedient eyes flickered over her body once more.

Robin gave him a small, but genuine, smile. "I don't think she will mind."

She inclined her head in the direction of the chateau and strode off without another word. It was an amazing transformation, he hated to admit as he hurried to catch up, thoughts solely revolving around the girl walking in front of him. He had fully expected to find Robin covered head to toe in some sort of body concealing habit. One year away from him and Robin had metamorphosed from a dark, brooding girl into a light, attractive woman. And while residing in a convent, no less.

He had to wonder what kind of nuns were contained within the walls of the chateau. What exactly had happened in his absence? Maybe they had just understood the true nature of Robin's existence better than most. With a pang, Amon noticed that Robin had become more self-assured without his overbearing presence lingering around. Before he could ponder the matter further, Robin led him into the main entry of the chateau.

"Wait here," she said, pointing to an alcove just inside the entryway. "I'll find Reverend Mother Agnes."

She vanished without another word. Amon dutifully stood in the area indicated, deciding to turn his attention to a painting of Christ's crucifixion and away from a young girl speaking rapid, angry Italian with a priest. Robin materialized at his side.

"She's in her office," she said, somewhat apologetically. She led him down a narrow corridor filled with heavy wooden doors. While she once would have fit in perfectly with these surroundings, Robin now was out of place, her lightness separating her from the internal darkness. She glanced over her shoulder with a smile as they arrived at the end of the corridor. "Here we are." She opened the door and entered the office.

The room was surprisingly light and cheerful, an odd contradiction to the rest of the chateau. Amon followed Robin inside and approached the clunky desk where a middle-aged woman sat. Her face lit up when her eyes beheld Robin, then dampened somewhat as the man behind came into view. She stood as Amon extended his hand.

"It's nice to see you again," she said politely, beckoning him to sit down. His upbringing by Solomon's clergy moved his feet to obey. The Reverend Mother's attention turned to Robin.

"Please stay a moment, Robin." The younger woman seemed surprised at the invitation, but was wordless as she moved forward to sit in the free seat beside Amon. "So, you are here to take our dear Robin away," Reverend Mother Agnes said, folding her hands atop the massive desk.

While she smiled, Amon believed the gesture to be false. His thoughts quickly shifted to her last words. They were most likely said in innocence, but Amon still bristled. Robin had been "his" far longer than she had been "theirs".

"Yes."

Reverend Mother Agnes raised an eyebrow. "You have finally found a safe place to hide Robin?"

Amon nodded once. "I believe so."

She appeared mollified. "That's good to hear." She looked away. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to Robin," she added in a soft voice. The next question directed at Robin took Amon by surprise. "And this is what you choose? To leave the protection of the convent and live with your former guardian?"

The older woman's eyes were serious as she probed Robin's face. Amon, in turn, couldn't prevent his angry glare. Reverend Mother Agnes wasn't fazed, matching his look evenly.

Robin's eyes traveled between the two, her blush from being put on the spot obvious. She dropped her eyes. "Yes. While I have enjoyed my time here, I do not believe this is where I should be."

Reverend Mother Agnes nodded, unsurprised by Robin's response. "Very well. Why don't you collect your personal belongings now." Her heavy gaze shifted back to Amon. "There are still a few things I need to discuss with your guardian." Her tone immediately set him on edge. He frowned. This couldn't be good. She waited until Robin exited the room before turning back to him. "You must have questions for me about Robin's craft."

Amon leaned forward in his seat. "Yes. How is she? Has her craft improved?

"I won't lie to you. Robin is by far the most powerful craft use I have ever seen. Frankly, her powers frighten me like no other. If I hadn't come to know her, I think I may have hunted her myself on principle alone."

Amon leaned back, eyes narrowed, and decided to ignore the woman's remark about hunting Robin. "Her powers have increased."

"She was powerful when she arrived. Today, she's basically unstoppable."

"I see." Amon's gaze dropped to the hands resting in his lap.

"You still feel that you are the one most suitable to take over the role as her guardian?" If Amon expected hostility from Reverend Mother Agnes, he found none. Only a sincere curiosity for the truth.

He chose his words carefully, fearing a trap. "I feel that I am in the best position to guard her at this point in time."

"You mean that you are the only one Robin will yield to." When Amon didn't respond, she sighed. "I'm afraid that I must be blunt. Would anything distract you from the task of being Robin's guardian?"

Amon stared at the Reverend Mother, taken aback by the woman's frankness. He crossed his arms in the classic stance of subconscious self-protection. "Are you…insinuating something?"

"I have severe reservations about releasing Robin into your…care." She noticed his incredulous expression at being so openly challenged. "You must understand the delicate position in which this places me. Releasing a young girl into the company of an un-chaperoned--virile--young man." Amon blinked. "A man, I might add, who happens to scoff at our faith with open hostility. I just don't think this is a wise decision." She shook her head.

Amon felt his surprise being replaced with a deep anger. How dare she interrogate him in this manner.

"Where do you think is the best place for Robin?" he demanded, his voice surprisingly even given his internal rage.

Reverend Mother Agnes only looked at him, not bothering to answer his question. "It is clear that Robin is very attached to you," she said after a moment of silence.

"I don't see how that has any bearing--"

"However," she interrupted, "what I have been most shocked by is your behaviour on both of your visits to the chateau. The way you look at her. Like a man looks at woman."

Now Amon was completely thrown, his expression displaying a mixture of startlement and confusion. "Robin is my ward, nothing more." His face stilled as he stared evenly at Reverend Mother Agnes. "If she wishes to leave this place, I will take her with or without your benediction."

"Your blatant interest in Robin disturbs me--but your loyalty is redeeming. You obviously care very much for her." She rubbed her temple with one hand. "Also, I do not think this place is sufficient for Robin's safety. You will do your best to protect her?"

His anger subsided. "Yes. But I don't feel that there is a person alive who could fully protect Robin."

"All I ask is that you do not do anything inappropriate. You may think I know nothing of the secular world--or of men--but I do." Her gaze was even, daring Amon to disagree.

"I make no presumption of what you do or do not know."

She smiled, but there was no joy in her eyes. "You are angry that I have openly discussed this matter with you."

"I think you see something that isn't there."

"And the way you have looked at her since your arrival? I may be old, but I assure you that my eyes are sufficient to see that you find her appearance pleasing."

Amon was caught. He could not adequately deny the initial physical attraction he felt earlier in the garden. His gaze slid away.

"It's as I suspected," she said.

"I was merely…taken aback," Amon said, smoothing down his pants as he spoke. "She has matured greatly since the last I saw her. I've never seen Robin wear--" a skirt that short "--pink. There is no real attraction."

The Reverend Mother seemed to read between the lines and see his subconscious thoughts. "She is still just seventeen," she reminded.

Amon didn't mention that Robin would be eighteen in a couple of months. "I am curious as to why you are so against a relationship between us."

"Is this an admittance of your desire?"

"No. Like I said, I am curious about your objections."

Reverend Mother Agnes looked surprised that he would ask such ridiculous question. "You were a fully grown man when you met the adolescent version of Robin. That is not an appropriate way to begin a relationship."

"Was it not also inappropriate for the church to burn a young Joan? Yet they did so."

The Reverend Mother's expression was one of blatant shock at Amon's words. Her eyes narrowed. "I would remind you that the Catholic Church has admitted its faults on many occasions. It will never change the sins that occurred in the past, but it is a step in the right direction." She leaned forward, refusing to be deterred from the subject of Robin. "Today, you are the one I worry about. I want to go on record to say that this is not a good idea. Robin's chastity is at stake. She needs to be in a relationship with a younger man her age and guarded by a far more mature older man. You fall somewhere in between, which is why you in particular are a poor choice for Robin's guardian."

"Why are Catholics so preoccupied with the notion of chastity? Robin's sole purpose is to lose that very chastity and become mother to a legion of genetically restored witches." He directed a sly look at Reverend Mother Agnes. "That is, unless you believe Robin is capable of virgin birth."

She gave him a disapproving frown. "Please do not mock our beliefs. I've already agreed to release her to your custody."

"And I've already told you that Robin is nothing but a ward in my mind."

"I sincerely wish to believe your words--for both your sakes."

Amon didn't respond, lest he reply in anger and regret his words. In a few minutes, he could collect Robin and leave this place for good without a second look back. How on earth had Robin not been covered head to toe after a year at the chateau? The Reverend Mother seemed to be one who preferred Robin to live the remainder of her life as a nun.

A distant sound interrupted his thoughts. Belatedly, he realized that Reverend Mother Agnes had asked a question. "Pardon me?"

For the first time, the Reverend Mother appeared openly irritated by Amon, no doubt suspecting that his thoughts were on a certain young craft user. Which they were. "I asked you to promise me that you will keep yourself from Robin." Amon raised a brow, not believing the absurdity of the situation. "I know that you could simply agree to the promise as a way to get an old woman to shut up, but still, I would like to believe that you are a man of your word."

Amon fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"I promise." The words slipped out before he realized they had been uttered. A proclamation fueled by desperation to escape the office and the Reverend Mother's control. She aroused too many memories of his teen years, forced to endure the agony of Solomon controlled Catholic schools. The ensuing silence and look in her eyes told Amon that she was waiting for more. A stronger commitment. He sighed in exasperation. "I promise to keep Robin's honour intact," he said through gritted teeth.

"Very well." Reverend Mother Agnes gave him one final stern look and stood. She paused. "You can always go to confession if the temptation of living with a young woman becomes too strong. You are only a man, after all." She caught sight of Amon's dubious expression. "Remember, confession is good for the soul."

Amon rose from his chair, finding himself nodding obediently on the outside while scoffing on the inside. It would be one glacial day in hell before he stepped into a confessional booth again.

Besides, withstanding temptation was one area where Amon excelled.

N o t e s :

Well, I hope that was a passable opening for everyone. This story should play out as a novelette (I'm hoping). I have a few unrelated projects that I'm currently working on, but I definitely want to give this story my best attempt.